Lords of Gondor
by Elendil-of-Arnor
Summary: A tale of the vastly underrated Lords of Gondor and what they did at the Pelennor Fields and afterwards
1. Default Chapter

LORDS OF GONDOR  
  
By  
ELENDIL OF ARNOR  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, places, or names. They belong solely to the Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema.  
  
Author's note: It might be helpful to read the chapters, "Minas Tirith" and "The Battle of the Pelennor Fields" in "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King." Also, this is book-based and spoilers for "The Return of the King" movie lie within. Review please.  
  
Chapter 1: The End of the Siege  
  
Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills of Pinnath Gelin awoke with a start. There was a deep, thundering boom and foul yells of triumph. He leapt up and ran to the edge of the fourth circle of the walls of Minas Tirith. And there he saw a sickening sight: Orcs by the thousands aligning in front of the gate of Gondor and in front of them all, a company of 50 orcs, hauling a huge battering ram thrust it into the gate of the city a second time.  
The gate broke. Hirluin's hand flew to his sword, but he stopped and saw a sight that amazed him for the rest of his life: Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim on his grey horse rode up in front of the gate and challenged the Captain of the Host of Morgul. Hirluin and the men of Gondor stood agape as a red flame ran down the Morgul King's sword.  
All of a sudden a new sound: horns, not the foul horns of the orcs, but the sweet melodious sound of the horns of the Riddermark. Then cries went up through the city: "Rohan is here!" "To arms!" "Form your men into columns!"  
Hirluin turned and grabbed the reins of his horse, Lightfoot, which had been with him since the long siege began." But now it will finish today, for better or for worse, it will finish on the Fields of Pelennor!" he thought.  
He gathered up his men, clad in green and met his fellow lords, Forlong and Imrahil of Dol Amroth at the ruined gate with their men.  
"Are you old men ready for battle?" yelled the young lord.  
"You insult me, Hirluin," said the Prince, "I am not yet 50!"  
Forlong merely grunted. "Are we ready to ride to the aid of Rohan yet?" said the fat old man on his horse.  
"We will be in a- where is he going?" said Imrahil, "I shall check."  
Hirluin turned and saw Mithrandir and the Halfling warrior turn away back into the city rather than out of it. Imrahil briefly talked to him then turned back to his fellow lords "Well, where is he off to?" asked Hirluin.  
"An errand to the Lord Denethor", said Imrahil.  
"Are we going to ride forward or not?" said Forlong, "I didn't come here to sit idly by and let the horse lords fight for me."  
"Right you are, Forlong," said Hirluin, "Imrahil, are we ready to ride or not?"  
Imrahil nodded. "It is time," he said. He then turned to his men.  
"Men of Gondor!" he cried, "Rohan's blood flows on the Pelennor! Shall it flow unmingled with our own?"  
"Never!" came the cry from the ranks.  
"Shall we return to this city with nothing less than victory?"  
"May we die first!" yelled Derufin of Morthond and the cry went up among the troops.  
"Then forward, forward for the White Tower, for Gondor! Victory or death!" And with that, Imrahil drew his sword and thundered out of the city on his great brown charger, followed by Hirluin and Forlong. 


	2. Chapter 2: Twist of Fate

CHAPTER 2  
TWIST OF FATE  
  
Swiftly, Imrahil, Hirluin, and Forlong rode forward with their men behind them.  
Hirluin heard a great, sickening wail and felt the terrible darkness he had felt for weeks fall away.  
"The Morgul King is gone! The city yet stands!" yelled Imrahil.  
Hirluin then saw the riders led by a young man with a white tail flowing from his helm.  
He did not have much to look for even now, his green-clad men and their comrades were being swarmed by orcs. Hirluin saw right in front of him, a tall and dark Uruk of Mordor. Who appeared to be a captain of some sort. The orc attacked the horse but Hirluin fended it off with a blow from his sword along the orc's back, but that only managed to graze and further enrage the creature. Hirluin was pulled from his horse, but he stood up and thrust his sword into the orc's belly.  
He looked for Forlong or Prince Imrahil. They were nowhere to be seen in the melee of battle. A knight of Rohan, Herubrand was his name fell dead beside him. He lifted up the corpse and recognized a Southron arrow, protruding from the dead man's chest.  
The Southrons were coming over a small ridge, firing as they went. Hirluin was able to organize a rabble of 20 Gondorians and 15 Rohirrim for a charge. They flung themselves at the men of Harad. Hirluin wrestled one to the ground and slit his throat and thrust his sword into the chest of the dying man's comrade.  
The Haradrim archers were for the first time being quelled. Hirluin saw them retreating over the ridge, but he had forgotten the orcs. They surround the ridge, forcing Hirluin and his men on top of it.  
All of his small group were killed, save for three men of Rohan. When he swiftly inquired, Hirluin learned their names as Harding, Grimbold, and Herefara. "Well, Harding, Grimbold, Herefara, let men sing that we have died here with honour."  
They fought and died well. Grimbold took down 10 before an orc spear found his neck. Then Harding, he took 7 until his sword broke. He fought on with a broken spear haft until a Southron arrow found his back. Herefara and Hirluin stood alone, Knight of Rohan and Lord of Gondor fighting to the bitter end, fighting off the orcs ably until Herefara was stabbed through the ribs by an orcish scimitar. He fell to the ground.  
Hirluin finally was stabbed through the stomach. The orcs moved on for the press of battle called them. "Where do you come from?" inquired the dying lord of Pinnath Gelin.  
Herefara responded: "The Eastfold of Rohan, my father died some time ago and left me the farm. I married two years ago and have twins, a son and a daughter. Who will care for them now? Whence come you, sir?"  
"I am Hirluin of the Green Hills of Pinnath Gelin. Ah, the hills are beautiful this time of year in the spring. Seeing children skipping through their vales. Alas that I shall never look upon them again. I too have a young wife, but no children. Herefara, I see something in the distance: Black ships!"  
"Corsairs?" moaned the Knight of Rohan.  
"No, no, for I see it! The White Tree flies once more in Gondor! See it!"  
"Then it is good that it should be the last thing I see, farewell." Herefara died. Those were the last words Hirluin heard, for he too closed his eyes and fell into eternal sleep.  
On the other side of the battlefield, Forlong the Fat had cloven into the Easterling lines with fire and fury, but as he drove into the Easterling rearguard, a man thrust his axe forward and cut down Forlong's mount, hurling him right into the centre of the Easterling line. He stood up in front of Ulwarth, their chief, with one swift chop, the Easterling chief fell dead at Forlong's feet. Five more fell to Forlong's axe until with fell swoop, a man cut deep into his chest. He died almost instantly.  
  
On the field of Gondor, Imrahil had fought long and hard. He had separated himself from Forlong and Hirluin long enough to see a strange bier; the men of Rohan were carrying towards the city. He learned that it was a woman of Rohan: Eowyn by name. Imrahil discovered that she was alive, but her illustrious uncle was dead. He made sure that Eowyn would be tended to and thrust himself into the fray with Hurin the Tall, High Warden of the Keys of the City Gates and Guardian of the Gates, who was eager to avenge his slighted honour, and his 400 Guards of the Fountain. Together with Imrahil's 700 knights, they plowed through the Morgul host, unscathed, though heavily outnumbered, but the host of Mordor were too great to let them cleave their way towards the young captain of Rohan.  
Imrahil, himself had crossed blades with the new Southron leader, whose name is lost in records. Theoden had slain their first leader and hewed down his banner, but the Southrons were far from routed. In fact their mumakil made horsemanship very difficult. He hacked down the Southron leader and desperately with Hurin at his side tried to cleave their way through to the young captain of the Rohirrim.  
Death was King that day. Sometimes a Knight of Dol Amroth would find himself surrounded by orcs and Southrons, then pulled from his horse and savagely hacked to pieces. At other times a lone Southron would hurl himself at a group of eight Rohirrim knights and would be cut down like a dog.  
Hurin and Imrahil were tempted many times to just give up and die, but they both knew in their heart of hearts that it would be better to die with a bloodied sword than an unbloodied one. Imrahil knew though, that if no help came, then their valour would be in vain.  
It was then, even as Herefara and Hirluin the Fair lay dying, that Black Ships approached. Imrahil was just about to throw his sword to the ground, when all of a sudden a new banner was unfurled: The White Tree of Gondor!  
Rather than throwing their swords to the ground, Imrahil and Hurin thrust their swords into the air, yelling, "Elendil lives! Gondor yet stands! Forward and show the Southrons the metal of Gondorian steel!" They then watched amazed, as a man they had never seen in their lives, tall and clothed in green and grey, leading an army of men from the South, behind him also were Dunedain rangers of the north and an Elf and Dwarf also. Elendil he was and yet not Elendil. For though he bore the blade renewed and the Banner of the White Tree, he was clothed in the common garb of a ranger from the North.  
Even as they marvelled at the strange newcomer's appearance and an Elf and Dwarf appearing together, (a sight, which had not been seen in Gondor for an age), Imrahil and Hurin gained a new inspiration and thrust themselves with a new vigour deep into the lines of the Southrons, like a firestorm. There, they met the Chief of the Rangers and the Captain of the Rohirrim, whose names they learned as Aragorn son of Arathorn and Eomer son of Eomund of Rohan.  
"My lords", said Hurin, "You have saved this city. Gondor yet stands!"  
"Indeed," said Eomer, "Yet there is much yet to do. Look! Orcs and Easterlings are massing on that hillock!"  
Aragorn lifted up his sword. "Elendil!" he screamed and broke upon the orcish horde. Imrahil, Hurin, Eomer with their men, followed swiftly and together they drove the Easterlings and Orcs away from the hill.  
The men of Gondor and Rohan joined together for one final push. The archers' arrows had felled the mumakil of the Southrons.  
Aragorn saw the banner of Minas Morgul still flying in the breeze. He nodded to Eomer, Imrahil, and Hurin and they rode ahead of their men to hack it down, yet Gothmog, the new Captain of the Morgul host stood in their way.  
The four men circled the orc. The orc lunged at Eomer; yet it stopped and let out a howl of pain as a well-aimed knife from Hurin found its back. "For the honour of the citadel!" Hurin yelled. "The honour of Dol Amroth!" yelled the Prince as he stabbed Gothmog in the stomach. "The honour of the Riddermark and Theoden King!" bellowed Eomer as he decapitated the orc. "The honour of the Dunedain!" cried Aragorn as he hacked down the banner of Minas Morgul and threw it in the dirt. Their horses trod on the fallen banner.  
The Morgul host was now reduced to a handful of orcs, Easterlings, and Southrons, fleeing and desperately looking for cover. Some, when about to be ridden down fought to the death, and others, driven mad by their despair flung themselves into the river, but sank like stones, save for a few light armoured Southrons who made their way home from the fields of Pelennor. 


	3. Chapter 3: Aftermath of Bloodshed

CHAPTER 3  
AFTERMATH OF BLOODSHED  
  
It was over. Where once killing reigned and death held a high carnival, now only moans and groans could be heard.  
Aragorn, Eomer, and Prince Imrahil had rode back to the city and left Hurin, Warden of the Keys to order the post-battle carnage.  
It was no easy task. Dead men from Gondor, Harad, Rhun, and Rohan and thousands of orcs lay dead. Some bodies were scattered, others lying in ghastly piles of death.  
It was a grim task, sorting the bodies of the Gondorians and Rohirrim from those of the Easterlings and Southrons, yet the Elf and Dwarf who had arrived with Aragorn aided Hurin in his grim task. He learned their names as Legolas and Gimli respectively. "On behalf of Gondor and the Lord Denethor, I thank you for your aid," he said, grabbing the arms of both of them in a military embrace. He looked at Legolas. "It is long since one of the Elder race was in our lands, yet proof you are that the Last Alliance lives."  
Legolas looked up at the 7'4" man. "I perceive that in Gondor, yet the blood of Numenor runs still."  
Hurin then looked at the Dwarf. "It has been also long since one of Durin's folk was seen in our lands and we still need your aid. The gate is broken and the walls are badly damaged."  
Gimli smiled. "It would please me greatly to bring some folk from the Mountain and aid in rebuilding this amazing city. How long ago was it carved? I suppose it-"  
"Gimli," interrupted the Elf, "We do have more pressing matters to tend to." He said, nodding towards the battlefield.  
"Yes," said Hurin, "War before conversation."  
Gimli was ready to move a hand to his axe haft, when he heard a groan just a few feet away on a small hillock. He rushed over with Legolas and Hurin beside him.  
"Who are you?" enquired Legolas.  
"I am Harding of the Westfold, knight of Theoden King. Do not tell me he is slain," he gasped.  
Hurin nodded sadly. "He has, but King Eomer now rules your people. Come. We shall take you to the Houses of Healing."  
"No," gasped Harding, "It is too late. It is a mortal wound, m'lord."  
"What happened here?" asked Legolas.  
"We were trapped on this hillock with a man of Gondor and two other riders, Marshal Grimbold and Herefara of the Eastfold."  
"Where are they?" asked Legolas.  
"They are dead," said Harding, "As I soon will be."  
"Your name will be mentioned in song, Harding of that I can assure you," said Hurin.  
Harding smiled, closed his eyes, and died. He was 35 years old.  
Legolas, Gimli, and Hurin immediately scoured the hillock. They uncovered dozens of orc, Southron, and Easterling carcasses, before they found three bodies huddled together. There they found Herefara and Grimbold and then Hurin saw something that caused him to drop to the ground and weep. There was Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills dead and pinned to the ground by an orcish scimitar. Hurin scooped up the body in his arms and cried like a little child. No more to hear his merry laugh that could penetrate even the darkest of times. No more to see him ride the plains freely. No more to see his smile as he unloaded a bucket of water on Forlong or tease the Prince of his age. Then a soldier rushed up and reported the death of Forlong the Fat at the hands of Easterlings.  
Soon word reached those outside the city that the Lord of the City was also dead and his son had barely escaped death. "Why?" thought Hurin, "Why all this death and destruction today? Why Theoden? Hirluin? Denethor? Forlong? Harding? Herefara? Grimbold? Why am I fighting in a war, which can never be won? Why?"  
"Come," said the Dwarf, "We must make for the city."  
Hurin looked up and then it struck him like a sword blow. "Gondor stands! Gondor lives!" He then thrust his sword into the air and screamed at the top of his voice, "Gondor lives!" Then the surviving men of Gondor and Rohan and the Elf and Dwarf thrust their weapons: spear, axe, bow, and sword into the air and screamed as one, "Gondor lives! The White Tower stands!"  
"Let us now march into the city with honour! Though none may know who we are, but we know who we are. We are the heroes of Pelennor! We have beaten back the enemy with great loss to ourselves! Much may happen in the coming days, but nothing can change the fact that we are the heroes of the Mark and Gondor!" bellowed Hurin and with that the heroes of Pelennor marched back into the city which they had fought so hard to keep. 


End file.
